


Horizon

by deadcellredux



Category: Final Fantasy VI
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Criminal Shenanigans, Gen, M/M, Meta, Pre-Canon, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-13
Updated: 2014-04-13
Packaged: 2018-01-19 04:44:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1455868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadcellredux/pseuds/deadcellredux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The dreams you share with Baram carry infinitely more weight than the fear of betraying your conscience.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Horizon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vrazdova](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vrazdova/gifts).



> Written for the tumblr "Send me a number and two characters" meme.
> 
> Prompt was Clyde/Baram, "kick in the head".

At the sound of Baram’s voice, you freeze. The Empire grunt at his feet is motionless, face ruined. Baram’s boot is glazed with blood.

“Shouldna kicked him in the goddamn head,” you growl, and the tremor in your voice is contradicted by the steadiness of your fingers as you kneel to search the dead man’s clothes. You’re almost disturbed by how instinctual the motions have become, the shock of being an accomplice to murder ( _again_ ) dulled entirely by the fact that the dreams you share with Baram carry infinitely more weight than the fear of betraying your conscience.

“Got carried away,” Baram shrugs, but you swallow your words and forget your concerns as you count the gold you’ve gleaned. It’s enough to get you at least two days travel away from the Imperial caravan in which you’ve stowed away— _plus_ several decent meals. You’ll arrive in Tzen by dawn, and you’ll arrange a boat or chocobo from there. Although the town’s Empire-occupied, you expect that no one will ask questions when they see how much payment you’ll offer.

For now, however, you hope no one discovers the body. The poor bastard had fallen asleep on watch inside a provisions wagon, and Baram— the ever-enthusiastic foil to your methodical, focused methods ( _of crime_ )—had taken matters into his own hands.

“Hope no one comes lookin’ for a midnight snack,” you finally whisper. Baram stifles his laughter with a fist of scarred knuckles pressed to his mouth, and the sound calms your nerves, loosens the knot of tension in your gut and pushes away the ever-present cloud of foreboding that’s lately taken residence in your head.

You push the body to the side and cover it with a tarp. The way it blends with the stack of wrapped Gyshal bales is comical, but somehow, neither of you feels compelled to laugh. Exhausted, you settle with a bottle of pilfered wine each behind stacked crates of grain, prepared to lie in wait until sunrise.

“If we haven’t stopped yet once light hits, I say we hop off and make a run for it,” Baram says, leaning his head against your shoulder. It takes all of your effort not to bristle at the contact— but it’s not because you find it unappealing. Quite contrary, in fact, but you set your focus on chipping off the decoratively painted label on your bottle with a fingernail. “Tzen won’t be far. We’ll see it in the distance, I mean. That, or houses, or the ocean or somethin’.”

You pull several long swallows from your bottle. “Fine with me,” you sigh. You’ve no idea how many hours there actually are until dawn, and you’re happy to have Baram’s company, as talking will keep you both awake—

\--scratch that. The sound of Baram’s snores reach your ear as the warm weight of his body settles against you, head heavy on your shoulder. The reality of your current situation is suddenly lucid—urgent, even—but you can’t think _too_ much about the fact that you’re a wanted criminal hiding in a wagon with a corpse and your equally wanted accomplice. Thinking too much about anything will drive a man crazy; it’s why you’ve gotten so good, lately, at detaching yourself from a world in which ambiguous morality and a broken political system leave no room for honest winners.

You turn your head to inhale the scent of Baram’s hair, and the linger of tobacco there makes you crave one of the smokes you’ve long since run out of. You’ve enough gold to buy more of those, too, when you get to Tzen; perhaps some good liquor and new boots, while you’re at it.

 _Some people say the sky’s the limit, but I’d prefer to think about what’s at the end of the tracks… disappearin’ off into the horizon, that’s where I’d like to be…_ a memory of Baram’s words echo in your mind as you close your eyes, and you entertain the notion that perhaps one day you’ll own the tracks. Simply riding them on a hijacked train, you figure, will only get you so far.

“We’ll get there,” you sigh, and shift to drape an arm around Baram’s shoulders. You shift until your ass is as comfortable as it's going to get on the uneven wood, and prepare to wait, awake, until morning.


End file.
